


Just Another Sinner

by darkforetold



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Biting, Canon Compliant, Choking, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Emotionally Repressed, Emotions, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fingerfucking, Masturbation, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Oral Sex, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, Teasing, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22240759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: A light tug on the strand, and dutifully, she followed his lead down, lured to him like a sinner driven to worship. So close was he now that every exhale ghosted over her mouth. Her face. Playing with her hair as the wind might.Emet-Selch hooked her hair around an ear. The brush of his fingers—ephemeral. Arousing. Then, he leaned in. Verity held her breath. His lips fluttered across the corner of her mouth. Her cheek."Naught would be more pleasing than to be of service to you—" A fatal breath. “—Ascian-slayer."
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 70
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ultimately, I'm not sure what this will end up being. A series of one shots? A story? Who knows! I just wanted Emet-Selch and my Warrior of Light to spend some quality time together. ;_;
> 
> Thank you to frostmantle for the wonderful, amazing beta work! ♥

_Me, I'm no saint or savior─just another sinner._ —Ardbert  
  
  
  
In her room at the Crystarium, Verity Iverness looked to the night’s sky. How had Urianger described it, back at Qitana Ravel? _A sea of shimmering stars. Diamonds strewn across a raven gown, boundless and beautiful._ Poetic, breathtaking, yet they rang in her hollow, like a drop of water in an endless cavern.

The night had always left her feeling vulnerable.

Staring at it now, she felt it keenly. It was an emptiness so deep, it carved her out and left her bleeding. Her mind fled to Tataru, then, always a comfort in her times of need. Armed with a warm mug of tea, a blanket, and a cherubic smile. Would Tataru know how much she hurt, if her dear friend saw her now? Would she listen to her doubts and fears? Of her regrets being born the Warrior of Light? 

Did she have the strength for _any of this_?

A tremor of otherness—she’d felt it when she absorbed the light of the First Warden. The intensity grew with the second, and when Y’shtola hadn’t recognized her in Rak’tika, she knew. She hadn’t been surprised when Y’shtola confided in her about the light, how her aether was suffused with an overabundance of it. Had it been the first time she’d truly seen fear in her friend’s eyes? She couldn’t remember.

All she knew now was an undeniable hunger. Not for sustenance.

For violence.

And what if the Light overwhelmed her?

_Have faith in your friends. Look out for them, and hope that they look out for you. What more can you do?_

Ardbert’s words rang in her head, but didn’t ease her pain. The Light arced through her veins like lightning might, fizzling every nerve it touched. She wanted to scream, run away, hide in another world, another dimension entirely. She wanted to fight, cry—her head swimming, confused. 

Most of all, she wanted to be _broken_. To escape her own limited existence and be driven to the brink of _something_. Anything to rid herself of her vulnerabilities, of these… _emotions_. In a momentary lapse of reason, she yearned for Zenos right then. A battle that would sunder both of them, leaving them naught but exhausted, merely pieces of themselves. But he wasn’t here. None of them were. 

Except—

Verity exhaled a harsh breath. It was a stretch. 

There were other ways she could be broken.

But—

Every one of her senses were on edge, and she peered at the shadows of her room, her arms trembling. The stale stench of her dinner, the way it mingled with the smoke adrift on the cool night’s air. The fireplace crackled and snapped, and the warmth in the room suddenly felt oppressive. Suddenly, too, was the weight of her own armor, unbearably heavy on her bones, and piece by piece, she tore them off, leaving them to rot in a corner. Still listening, still wondering.

Would he even hear her?

Verity sipped in a ribbon of air and held it. Her heart stammered in her chest, and she interlocked her fingers to keep them from shaking. She had to be in control, even if all she wanted was for someone to take it from her.

In the listless quiet, she whispered, “A-are you there?”

She fully expected Ardbert to make his second appearance tonight, but he didn’t. A relief, yet her stomach still coiled. Anticipation or anxiety, she didn’t know. She moistened her lips and tried again.

“Emet-Selch,” she swallowed, “Are you there?”

A gust of wind stirred loose papers on her desk. She spun—but no one was there. No millennia-old smirk judging her from the dark, nor did the intensity of his golden eyes strike her down. She was still desperately alone.

Verity laughed at herself, at how truly pathetic she’d become. “Of course, you pick now to give me a modicum of peace.” But she was not glad for it. More… overcome with disappointment, and somehow a sense of loss, than anything else.

She wrung her hands, and restlessness filled in the cracks between her broken pieces. Pacing took her from her bed to the table strewn with foodstuffs and beverages. She didn’t have the heart to eat, drink—she barely had the will to breathe. Not unless she gasped for it from beneath the sheets, pressed to warm skin. 

Nero knew how to break her, how to leave her lungs burning for air. Knew how rough she needed it in times like these, when she felt her most vulnerable. No questions. Nothing more, nothing less.

Missing him robbed her of strength. Desperation stole her sanity.

_You do know how to whistle, don't you, hero? Just put your lips together and blow._

The sound was shrill, echoing against the walls, too loud for her ears. Its volume made her dizzy, and she caught her balance on the edge of the table. Head throbbing, candlelight—flickering. A trick of the mind? Was the sickness—

“Oh, I do wish you would stop beckoning me like your personal errand boy. Have you no respect?”

Her heart skipped a beat.

Verity smiled in spite of herself, donned her dignity, and turned. There, on her bed, Emet-Selch lay like a veritable damsel in distress, on his back with an arm languidly draped over his eyes. As if existing—breathing—had taken so much energy and will that he’d simply… fallen over from exhaustion.

“You answered,” she returned coolly.

He angled his wrist so he could look at her with one golden eye. 

A shiver rolled down her spine.

“And so I have. What, then? Another history lesson, perhaps? A riveting bedtime story? Or have you aught of interest to share for once? I hope you do not plan on boring me.”

Verity worried the bottom of her lip. She couldn’t meet his eyes, and they naturally gravitated downwards. Out of shame, perhaps, at how… simple her needs were. How _absurd_. In a rush of reality, she regretted calling him here—that a man (no, an immortal, an _Ascian_ , nonetheless) like him would…

“I—“

At her stammering, she expected impatience, a characteristic quip that’d cut her to the core. But when she was met with silence, with a frightening sense of nothingness… Had he left? She chanced a glance upwards. He was still in repose, but instead of one eye watching her, there were two. Studying her like she were a new species, or a shattered jar so beyond repair it left him speechless.

Somehow, it gave her courage.

"I-I want you."

For a second, his elegant brows swept high on his head to mark his abject surprise. A moment of unguarded emotion—it died on his face as soon as it’d been born. He turned his head into his arm, shielding his eyes and punched out a sigh, as if the entirety of the star had disappointed him. 

Emet-Selch tossed a dismissive hand. "Truly a pathetic attempt to woo me, my dear. Again. With a little less disgust this time. More gusto."

He was toying with her, feasting on her moment of vulnerability. Verity frowned. Was she truly so weak, so in desperate need? She looked away from him, jaw stern and eyes downcast again. A means to an end, this was. Anything to rid herself of this tumultuous sea of _everything_ inside her. Even if it meant dealing with him.

“I… _need_ you.”

She poured everything she had into those few words. Her loneliness, her heartache, her desperate need for someone—anyone—to touch her.

Emet-Selch sighed with his whole being. The exasperated sound cut her open, and for a moment, she withered. He turned his head to regard her with disdain, through half-lidded eyes.

"I am almost convinced you do, as shattered as you are. And you must be _so_ desperate. Crawling on your knees to me, an Ascian—your enemy—for sustenance seems utterly beneath you.” The arrogance in his voice… “Old Thancred not enough to knock your boots, then? What of the glorious Crystal Exarch? Too boring? Mayhap you better favor the tall one. I am certain you can find a way to silence him."

Verity opened her mouth—

“Presumptive to believe I would be tempted by a woman like you.”

The Light’s violence whipped against her ribs, and the hiss of a breath escaped her lips. Her body had been unsteady before, but she quaked with something new—the all-consuming need to strike him down where he carelessly lay. Her face must have shown as much.

"Oh, do not sulk. Come. Ravage me, then, if you are so inclined."

His tone—acidic.

_A woman like you._

They rattled in her brain, the caustic lance from which she sprung into action, clearing as much ground as she dared, just as Estinien had taught her. She touched down, light as a feather, in front of the bed, then threw herself onto it, starved and wild not unlike many beasts she’d brought down. He watched her, bored, unaffected, as she straddled him. Too many things hit her all at once, in the fraction of a moment.

The warmth of him. Otherworldly, it radiated from him with the strength of twice this star. Far stronger than any other man she’d ever been with, to the point that it was… overwhelming. The desire to strip off her own clothes just to feel cool air again—she exhaled hard with it, and it sounded like a gasp. Breathy, too needy. 

On the next intake of air—his scent. The stench of licorice clung to her throat like bile, but there was more—an undercurrent of sandalwood besides, spicy and earthen. A ribbon of decadence, of dark chocolate and mahogany mulled wine. Of secrets trapped in leather-bound books and rosewood chests. Of sultry notes that promised to pull her down, close to his skin, where he’d whisper promises of how he’d keep her safe, cherished. Revered.

Verity lifted her chin and breathed all of him in, open-mouthed, dizzy. Imbibing the headiest drug in all of the First. When she had the wherewithal to look at him, Emet-Selch was gazing up at her the crook of a smile. Like he knew. Like he’d always known she’d fall for him.

_A woman like you._

Verity swallowed her weaknesses and lifted her chin. “You'd be so lucky to fuck someone like me.”

His smile only grew.

Emet-Selch tilted his head a degree, as if the new angle would allow him to see all of her. “Such a filthy mouth. _So_ unbecoming of you. Surely we can put it to better use.” A brow arched. “Thoughts?”

She needed a semblance of control. To gain ground, however small. She achieved all her goals, from slaying primals to impossible machines—through violence. 

Now wouldn’t be any different.

With all her strength, she pinned his arms over his head, to the mattress—and he let her. He watched her carefully through every movement, weathered her pinching fingernails with partly open golden eyes. This close, they were hypnotic, the color like sunlight streaming through a glass of whisky. For a moment, she was lost to them.

Sinking further and deeper into everything he ever was.

“I must say, as much as I enjoy staring into your eyes—“

She blinked, then gripped his wrists tighter.

“You are overfond of your own voice. Perhaps, _yours_ can be put to better use.”

Emet-Selch simply flicked a wrist from under her grip. Her strength nothing to him. She watched him toy with an errant strand of her own hair, twirling it in his slender, nimble fingers. She wondered what else he could do with them—how he could make her feel if he touched her, slipped them inside her. 

If he could make her come without touching her at all.

A light tug on the strand, and dutifully, she followed his lead down, lured to him like a sinner driven to worship. So close was he now that every exhale ghosted over her mouth. Her face. Playing with her hair as the wind might. 

Emet-Selch hooked her hair around an ear. The brush of his fingers—ephemeral. Arousing. Then, he leaned in. Verity held her breath. His lips fluttered across the corner of her mouth. Her cheek.

"Naught would be more pleasing than to be of service to you—" A fatal breath. “— _Ascian-slayer_."

Starved of him, she crushed a kiss against his mouth. Twisting and yanking him closer by his blood-red sash. Their kiss was a desperate thing—broken by her own breathlessness, her fervent tongue. Salvation was through him and him alone. His fingers entwined in her hair—it was benediction. The way he gently guided her body closer to his—a heavenly hymn. He didn’t rush her. His hands never pushing, never greedy—his confession. 

A man who devoured nations, conquered worlds—destroyed lives. Tender like none other, and the juxtaposition was startling. In the end, wasn’t he still just another monster?

Verity aborted the kiss, and he let her. She studied his face. His flushed and abused lips, his eyes blown wide. No longer the cool, defiant and unperturbed villain she knew—but one that had desires, needs. They were etched on the very angles of his face.

Then, they were gone.

Emet-Selch lay his head back down on the pillow. Mouth a thin line. Eyes ever cool, forever bored. “Is this the battle from which you finally decide to run, hero?”

A merciful out. An escape.

Verity took a breath, of licorice and darkness, then smiled. “Heroes don't run, _villain_. They endure.”

“And endure you shall.”

_Snap_.

Realities came into sharp, incredible focus in an instant. His hot skin pressed against her, all of him exposed to her keen eyes. Every soft plane, every vulnerability now wholly hers. History was etched into his toned chest, fissures of scars reaching back to stories she’d heard whispered when she was young. Of a young man who’d been enlisted in the Republican army when he was but sixteen. The imperious rise to legatus, Dictator, then self-proclaimed Emperor. It was all here, in every faded wound, mark, every discoloration of skin.

She read him like a tome with her fingertips, tracing a prominent scar over his chest. Near fatal if he hadn’t been who he was, if he hadn’t belonged to something other than this very star. Wanting to know the story overtook her, and Verity looked up to his eyes for explanation. His eyes were downcast, lost in—something. No, lost in _her_.

Soft, reverent, his fingertips outlined a scar he’d found on her hip. A faint line from the bone, snaking inward toward her navel, ending abruptly partway there. When Ysayle hadn’t been Ysayle, where Shiva had struck her. Stories for another time, when she didn’t feel so close to breaking. The brush of his fingers on her skin, other hand nestled in her hair—too intimate, and she was coming undone. His everything was a tempest. 

All she wanted to do was drown.

The way he was touching her, like she meant something to him—Verity took an unsteady breath. It was strategic, her hand venturing south, as a means to get him to stop. Her fingers trailed a heated line across his belly, then lower, wisping the wiry hairs there. It was enough. His caress died on her skin, his intake of breath subtle but no less in need than she was. His want was prominent in the thick hardness of his cock, proud and flushed. She wondered how he tasted—if he’d call out her name when he emptied down her throat. 

Verity settled for touching him instead. Thumbing the slit and smearing his own precome down his shaft. Emet-Selch sucked in an urgent breath, but didn’t make a noise. Disappointingly quiet. What would make him call out for her, she wondered. Groan. Whisper filthy curses and meaningless babble in her ear.

Or scream.

One fluid stroke up his shaft, to the tip—

He kissed her with fire and brimstone, his fingers tight in her hair. It was a moment of pain that she chased, a promise of hushed violence he failed to give her. Soft again were his affections. She couldn’t ignore the way those devilish fingers touched her anew—small, smooth circles on her side, up and down slowly, like this wasn’t just fucking, but lovemaking instead. Every inch of her craved harder, rougher, but he returned each wet and rapid stroke with soft dedication. Her skin flinched and jumped at the very insult of his reverent fingers, and every time she harshened their kiss, he battled to love her.

—until she bit down and drew blood.

Emet-Selch tore his head away and brought fingers to his lip. They came back bloody, and the tip of his tongue snaked out to taste. His golden eyes darkened, his mouth turned a savage line. All that was gentle had veered to sharp, sculpted planes—like cracked marble on the statue of a god.

The change in him was breathtaking.

“ _Tsk, tsk_ , my dear.” In his tone, a hint of violence. “What am I to do with you now?”

Faster than she could follow, she found herself facedown on the bed, hips drawn up, everything she was ready for him to take. He lorded over her from behind, trailing a single finger up her spine, to the spot ‘twixt her shoulder blades, up to her sensitive nape. Like a butcher measuring up his next kill. The hard heat of him blazed against her, and what she wanted now, what she prayed for, was that he’d run her through. Swift and clean.

“What are you to do with me?” she echoed. Fate grinned. “I want you to fu—“

The knife of his hand thumped down on her neck, fingers like thorns in her skin. Paralyzed, she was at his mercy, and the arousal of his dominance made her dizzy and wet. His voice was at her ear, then, his breath ghosting over the shell. “Your mouth will get the better of you one day. This, I promise you. Until then, kindly refrain from opening it unless I deign otherwise, won't you?”

Demeaning, like she was nothing to him. 

The Light coursing within her wanted to destroy him, snuff him out like a regrettable moment. 

But Verity Iverness, Warrior of Light, a girl playing the part of hero, wanted him to take her apart, piece by piece. Strip her bare, down to her most basic of instincts. 

She keened with it, bowing her spine, angling her hips up and back, teasing him with what was rightfully his. But he didn’t take it, not yet. He softened his hands at her neck, enough to pass a thumb behind her ear, echoing against the hollow spot there. An apology, whispered into her skin. Another in the way he lightly gripped her hip, fingertips dancing along Ysayle’s scar. All of this—was too much. None of it was what she wanted. 

She cried out in desperation, and it was a pitiful thing.

_Break me_.

If she’d said it aloud, she hadn’t noticed. 

He did.

His fingers sunk into her pale hair and curled, so tightly, so harshly, it stole her breath away. The pain—was exquisite, and she rewarded him a broken noise from deep within her throat. He didn’t take her then either, but _teased_ her. Slipping the wet tip of him against her, passing over where she exactly needed him. Once, twice, pushing in an ilm and then retreating like all of this was a sick game to him. But every time he did it, every time his heat grazed against her wanton sex, she wanted more of it; his teasing, his barely there touches. The promise of the inevitable only for him to take it away. 

He blessed her with more of the same; circling her with the tip of his cock, never fully giving in to her desperation. Jagged little noises fell like petals from her mouth, sweet and enticing—but not to him. Again, inside her, but just the very head of him. The minute pulse of his hips pushed him deeper, not enough. He was hot and slick, and she clenched around him, every ilm of her trying to memorize him before he took everything away. And he did, leaving her empty, drawing the length of his cock up and lengthwise against her sex—driving her absolutely _mad_. Heat there, then gone, an ilm in, no further, before he stole his touch from her. And oh, how she ached for him. Needed him. Wanted him. More than the very air she tried to breathe.

He smeared his wetness against her—and it broke her.

“By the Twelve,” she whispered. 

“Your false gods are not here, my dear.”

His voice was raw and deep—a broken murmur before Death himself reaped the forsaken. 

She huffed out a breath. Couldn’t take much more of this, so close to broken, a whisper would rend her. Begging—it’d always worked in the past. Surely now? Just a pleading look, a soft subservient smile—a sultry word or two drowned in lust and sex and need. That’s all it normally took.

Armed with a look, Verity arched her back. Twisted her head, delicate chin on her shoulder. A single word. That was all she needed. She kept her chin angled down, enough to shadow her eyes with thick lashes. Looked up through them—

_Please_ died in her throat.

The sight of him robbed her of breath.

He was a god in the hushed candlelight, a sheen of sweat glistening over his toned chest, his stomach. Muscle shuddered under his skin with every movement—each inflection of his body graceful, as lethal as a blade, as fatal as a gunshot. He maneuvered behind her, and his angular hips strained with tension—the urge to sink deep within her and his resistance a war on his beautiful face. What she wouldn’t give to worship him. 

Their eyes met, his wild with lust and sex. He ran his fingers through his shorn hair, their ends wet with exertion, and teased her again with his cock. She’d come like this, she knew. Pitiful and broken and too human, brought to her end by his relentless, godless, merciless _teasing_. He smiled, and it was a sly little thing. She knew in that very moment she’d sold her soul to him. 

Everything she was, would ever be, was his.

Mothercrystal save her.

“Have mercy.”

He slipped his hand up her sweat-slicked back, to the spot ‘twixt her shoulders, and pressed down. Dutifully, she went, flat against the mattress, hips up, bared fully to him once more. Just the head of him breached her again, pleasure shooting up her spine, where he penetrated her aching with need and _now_. She expected another hasty retreat, for him to leave her empty without his heat—and she couldn’t bear the thought of it. 

The noise from her throat was otherworldly. 

—and it broke him. 

Emet-Selch fully sheathed himself inside her. The force of it gutted her of a breath she’d been holding in her chest, and her moan was too loud, too desperate, too—grateful. It sounded like a song on her lips, praising a god she didn’t need, didn’t want to believe in. 

His first thrust was meticulously measured; slow, enrapturing every nerve on its way in. Her legs quaked with the effort, her face buried into her pillow because every ilm of him felt—so fucking _good_. To the hilt inside her, but not pulling back for another thrust, to allow her body to adjust to his girth, perhaps. To tease her, as was his wont. 

She squeezed, straining herself to imprison him there. Zeroing in on that place, so primed and ready for release. A sweeter spot that few had been able to reach—something she couldn’t understand, but _feel_. With enough pressure, hard enough… just maybe…

A steady breath. Teeth biting the corner of her pillow.

Always had she been a fighter—and she needed _more_.

On his retreat, Verity shot her hips backward, spearing herself on his cock. Taking of _him_ once, twice, before he collapsed in on her like a falling tunnel. It left her dizzy and crushed against the mattress. If she died in this way, him fully inside her, his body pressed to hers—it’d be a blessing. 

Emet-Selch spent ragged breaths against her ear. Sweat and the smell of sex slick between them.

He had her still by the hair. 

There was a moment of stillness. Then—

“Leave it to you to hasten even _this_ along.” The dark storm of his voice. Nearly breathless. “Allow me to _finish it_.” 

—a reckoning. 

Emet-Selch grabbed what he could of the headboard for leverage—then slammed into her once, his hips punishing her backside. The force knocked her forward. The feel of him inside her. His roughness. The burn… 

She bit her own lip, and from nowhere, her orgasm rose up and crashed over her body. With it, an all-consuming fire. Her cry was a pathetic one, wrecked beyond all reason, mindless—she didn’t even recognize it as her own.

He pressed his lips harsh against her ear.

“I must confess,” came his whisper, “I find your stamina rather… disappointing.”

Verity sucked in a gulp of air, still dizzy. Her heart tearing out of her throat. She swallowed— _control yourself_ —and spoke clear as a bell. “We’re not finished yet, Ascian.”

Fingers tugged at her hair, and she huffed out a tragic breath.

“A second Sundering, then.”

The meaning was lost to her in the sultry heat of his voice. Low and deep, it rumbled up her spine—a growl of thunder before the strike. Her whole world moved with a snarl of pain—hair pulled and guiding her back, to that selfsame position once more: hips up, breasts flush against the mattress, with him behind her, poised to strike. His fingers bit into her hips, and she had one final moment to breathe. To wonder over her exquisite death.

Emet-Selch pulled his hips back—

“And with it, I shall take—“ 

—and his thrust was savage.

“And take—“

Another, rattling her bones, knocking her into the headboard.

“—and take until you plead for me to stop.”

But she wouldn’t. 

Not with how… heavenly this felt, every thrust stretching her, thrumming her sex to the tune of his music. The heat inside her built again, and she weathered him willingly, spreading her thighs farther so his thrusts hit deeper. So deep, that with euphoria, came a little pain. She chased that ribbon of hurt, down, down, down, past the veil of her traumatic childhood, through Ser Aymeric’s rejection of her. Of Harlan Vanik, with whom she’d fallen in love, then subsequently abandoned her.

Beyond everyone who had ever hurt her, left her, neglected her—forgotten her.

A kiss on her shoulder blade yanked her from despair. Lips tracing a line inward, toward her spine. His thrusts had slowed, fluid arcs running through her, gently coaxing every onze of pleasure her body could muster. Tenderness that promised to save her, love her, never let anyone hurt her ever again.

Verity Iverness wasn’t looking for a savior.

She knocked her shoulder back. It was enough for Emet-Selch to straighten, his body no longer flush with hers. The missing body heat made her ache, but his violent thrusts—born anew—made her ache even more. His touches turned icy. Where he’d used two hands to keep her down, fingers drummed languidly on her hip. He’d used violence and strength to burrow into her over and over—and now…

“Shall I regale you with the Garlemald's halcyon days? Allag, perhaps?”

—he was bored.

“Aught else while we labor through this unaffecting spectacle of fucking?”

She shot her hand to the headboard and crooned as her body shuddered with another orgasm. Stronger than the last, knocking the breath from her lungs.

"Truly? Well, then. I see you are more than just an admirer of unseemly language. How theatrical. Mayhap I will learn from you yet. I do aspire to be so deeply shameless.”

Her breath shot out labored, words, if any, lodged in her throat. He’d stopped, but didn’t avail himself of her, nor did she want him to. On all fours, she sucked in air, trying to steady her heart. The quiet in the room became unsettling. She wondered if he’d fallen asleep, robbed of his own hot air. Or, if he somehow respected her humanness in that fragile moment, her inability to… to rise above everything thrown at her.

“Would you enjoy it if I demeaned you further, hero? Tell you, not unlike the many others before me, how much I desire to bury my cock inside you? Fuck you until you could no longer walk in a straight line?”

A shredded moan escaped her.

“Shall I remind you of how broken you are? How utterly _flawed_? That you’re destined to be wholly imperfect?” He fell over her spine like a ragdoll. Hot skin against her own. Lips to her ear. “Surely _that_ would make you come for me again.”

Gods, she wanted to. _Please_.

“But how boring would that be. Telling you everything you want to hear. No. How about something else, hm? Something to really quicken your blood.” A breath. A whisper. Fingertips graced her back, reverent. “You deserve more than this. When did you last hear the words ‘thank you’?”

It was fathomless, this well of emotion. She was at its precipice, waiting for it to devour her whole. She choked back a little broken noise. This—wasn’t what she wanted. To feel, to despair. She wanted to forget, be hurt—to be human in other ways than suffering.

“Please,” was all she could muster—and it sounded shattered.

“So be it.”

His intimacy dissipated. His thrusts were just as savage as she needed them, shredding her from the inside out. It left her wanting nothing more than to succumb to the way he pounded into her, over and over again. Every inch of her body oversensitive. No more tender touches, fatalistic and plenty. No more words. Just a vast emptiness of raw fucking, breaking her apart. Another breath. A moment, and then—she fell victim to her body’s last keening. The third, no less powerful and fulfilling. 

In her haze, as her body quaked—had he, too? Was he capable?

_Snap_.

She was alone in the bed, clean and clothed, with him perusing the foodstuffs on her table. Him in his regal red-and-black, medals and gold shining in the low light. Emet-Selch snatched an apple, bit into it and turned. Chewed lazily as if they hadn’t just shared an intimate moment—or three.

Suddenly, Verity was even more vulnerable under his heavy gaze. She flipped the blankets over her legs and looked away, steeling her jaw. “I require nothing of you further.”

The room chilled.

“So the vaunted hero commands, and so shall I obey. Just like the dutiful dog for which I am taken.” The apple dropped like an iron ingot. “When next you see fit to summon me again,” he drawled, “do be sure it’s for aught worthwhile, would you?”

Verity snapped a glare at him, in time to see his dismissive hand flutter. To see him disappear in a burst of darkness, a bloom of black and violet. The empty room mocked her. The insatiable ache between her legs begging for him again. Her dreams would run her wild, she knew, of him against her skin, his words a balm to her soul. In them, would he kiss her? Ravage her? 

That night, hours later, the Warrior of Light woke to screams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shall I regale you of another one of your inadequacies?” His voice broke through her reverie, and it was hushed, bemused. A secret between them. “You are far too easy to please.”
> 
> Verity opened her eyes. His slight smile spoke of adoration, and his tenderness jump started her heart. Fireflies danced in her stomach. “Shh,” she whispered, laying a finger over his lips. “You talk too much.”
> 
> His eyes flared to life as if he’d scented blood. The look on his face—hungrier than she had ever seen him, wild like the starved dog he was. He nipped at her finger with teeth before plunging his mouth down around it, suckling in a way that was almost… fervent. He worshipped it, swirling his tongue along its length, tasting— _her_ , she realized. The sight of him feasting on her, what he could smell, taste, flushed her cheeks. A man so wondrous as he, brought down by something so simple yet so… erotic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Sometime after Lakeland...
> 
> A huge resounding THANK YOU to [Starships](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starships/pseuds/Starships), who took this mess of a chapter and helped me wade through it. You're an absolute lifesaver and a fantastic beta. ❤ And to [frostmantle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmantle/pseuds/frostmantle) for being my extra eyes and literally saving me from myself in my times of self-doubt and need! ILU!

In her room at the Crystarium, Verity Iverness lay on the bed. The silk of her delicate underthings whispered against her skin as she sought friction from her own fingers. Easing two along her bud then slipping them inside, pushing deep. Her heat clenched around them ruthlessly. Stomach tightening with the steady build-up of euphoria, and she reveled in the excitement of the tease—it only heightened her arousal. Left her thighs _trembling_.

She curled her fingers just so before pulling out completely, smearing her own slick over her most sensitive of spots. Her orgasm—it was so close. Burning bright then fizzling out when she removed her fingers altogether. Teasing… exactly like he had. 

A minute, two, just like this, concentrating only on her breathing, the still quiet of the room. If she inhaled deeply enough, she could smell him on her flushed skin—the scent of spices long forbidden, notes of sandalwood and sin. A stab of licorice reminding her how much she truly hated him.

She wasn’t kind to herself. Her fingers plunged deep, mimicking their rough fucking back on this selfsame bed. Every thrust between her legs almost as savage, punishing, her only salvation how godsdamn wet she was. The thought of him rending her, his thick cock unraveling her bit by bit, ilm by ilm—how weak she’d been. How utterly foolish.

Gods, how much she needed him now.

Just a little more. Harder. _Right there…_

She was cresting—

Turning her head away from the room, Verity arched her back and whispered, “Emet… _please_ … fuck me harder,” to he who blessedly wouldn’t hear.

Then—

… somewhere—a noise. 

A foreignness to the room. 

She froze. Aware. Listening. 

Raw and exposed. Too struck-dumb to turn her head. Too startled to pull her fingers out.

Someone was here with her, that much she could tell, and the sound of chewing was explicit, absolutely theatrically obnoxious. Not Ardbert then, but—

_Licorice._

Verity whipped her head around. There, in the chair, sat Emet-Selch like a king on a throne, popping a small confection in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, then licked his bare fingers—long and slow, from the base to their very tips. 

A moment of quiet spread thick and oily between them. 

He arched a brow and fluttered fingers away from his face in question. “Please. Do not stop on my account. I enjoy a bit of theater. Especially when I find I am its main attraction.”

She righted herself while he reached for another sweet. Chewing, licking those slender fingers as a promise to finish the job—far better than she ever could. But indignation, fury that he’d dare encroach on her intimate privacy, snuffed out the temptation.

“I didn’t summon you,” Verity snapped, suddenly so vulnerable under his eyes. She gathered the blankets to her chest, hiding herself away.

Emet-Selch stilled, one corner of his mouth tilted up. A smile or a sneer, she couldn’t tell. “Can a faithful dog not also heel to the sound of its name?” 

Petulant, belying his sour mood.

Verity swallowed down her anger. “Uttering your name is not a way of invitation.”

“Isn't it? Well, well. Consider me right and truly scolded, Your Radiance. Only when you whistle shall I ever come running to your side. Please. Do forgive me, I beg.”

She looked away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. Just as petulant. Chewing resumed, but she ignored him all the same. It was a test of wills, this. Stretching on for minutes, eons, before Emet-Selch cut the air with a laborious, dramatic sigh.

“Must you _always_ be so cross?” 

“Cross? You think I’m merely cross?” Verity turned to narrow her eyes at him. “I’m well past cross with you. I can barely stand the sight of you without summoning up my dinner.”

“For spoiling your fun—?”

“This is not about that! It’s—” She let out a huff of pure frustration. “I would be wasting my breath, just as I’m wasting my time with you. Go away.”

“While I find your company quite taxing: no, I will not simply go away. I will come and go when and where I deem fit. And lest you doubt, nay, I do not particularly care for your dramatics either, but I shall hear of them anyway. Go on. Scold me further as you are wont to do. What have I done to displease you so?”

Verity clenched her jaw, refusing to give way. 

“Hero—“ Sing-song and utterly annoying.

“You abandoned me in Lakeland!” She snapped, her voice shrill. “I know you were watching, and you didn’t deign to lift a finger to help. Do you know how tired I am of being abandoned by _everyone_?”

For a moment, Emet-Selch said nothing. She could almost see—could almost _feel_ —the cogs turning in his head. Winding to pull and tighten his face and collapse his body in on itself. Everything about him turned to hard and unforgiving lines. His stern jaw, the depth of his stare, golden eyes hooded and tunneling into her skin. He was a dark storm ready to break, and his bare hand, curling into a fist on the table, was his crack of thunder.

He smiled, and it was devastating.

“Lakeland,” Emet-Selch echoed. “Yes. What a moving spectacle that was. Our heroes, fighting so hard to save doomed souls from the clutches of sin eaters. And yet—so many deaths. Surely, you could have made better choices. Saved a few more lives. Pity. I was _so_ rooting for you and your friends to win the day.”

“You… _bastard_ —“

“You whine of abandonment. Forgetting that I am the proclaimed villain in your selfish little story.” Emet-Selch sighed, and it cut. “What should I have done then, hm? Vanquish a few sin eaters for you? Help you save the lost and wretched? If I were to help you every time some poor soul dies, I would never hear the end of it. Imagine. The Warrior of Light beckoning her dog to dispatch her foes. What's next? Fetching and opening a jar pickles for you?”

Verity steeled her jaw. “Yes. How dare I think you could possibly ever have a soul, or even an onze of humanity.”

“By Zodiark, am I to have a spat with the Warrior of Light over a few dead husks? There are truly greater things at stake here than your tears. Do you honestly have the time to spare a glance at spilt milk?”

“You equate lives—living breathing people with dreams and hopes—to _husks_? Spilt milk?” Her voice pitched with incredulity. “I watched a man die in my arms!“

“Another tragic story for our infallible Warrior of Light.”

“You truly are a monster,“ she said breathlessly. “I thought— when we—“

“What could you have possibly thought?” When Verity didn’t reply immediately… “Oh! Ohhh... You thought you could change me, did you? Over a few moments together under the sheets? You, my dear, were not that inspiring.”

“That's a lie,” she fired back. “It meant more to you than it did me. I felt it in every one of your touches.”

“Trick of your imagination, I’m afraid. You only felt what you wanted. What you needed. It was nothing more than a means to an end—you told me as much in every one of _yours_.”

“Is that what this is truly about? Because I didn’t let you fuck me the way you wanted?” 

“Do not—“ he hissed, “presume to know my mind.”

“What else could it be?” Before he could answer, Verity laughed, a heartless whisper of air. “You poor, sad thing. You, with your bruised ego. You’re just as broken and as flawed as I am—and truly pathetic besides. A mighty Ascian brought low by a single woman.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please. You flatter yourself. It shall take more than spoiled meat to bring me low.”

“ _Spoiled meat_?” she echoed, “I am the Warrior of—“

“When it suits you—when you choose not to bemoan your own existence,” he snapped. “Over what? Paltry heartbreaks? A handful of losses? How heavily those must weigh on your shoulders. Why, it is a wonder you can stand on your own two feet at all.”

“ _What_? You—“ Verity sputtered, curling her fingers into the blankets. “You scold me? You—the expert on loss? The only one who's allowed to bemoan their existence and waste away?” She barely recognized her own voice, the sheer unadulterated urge to strangle him—overwhelming. “You practically slouch with the weight of your pain and suffering. Why am I not allowed the same luxury? Why do you get to tell me—or anyone—what they can or can’t do? How dare you, you of all people, tell me how to feel. To think. You are but a self-serving beast in the shadows.”

Dark clouds passed over his eyes, and it was his stillness that unsettled her most. Like a coiled viper ready to strike. Gauging her. Calculating the kill. Yet as quickly as that moment had come, it disappeared. Emet-Selch leaned back in his chair and simply smiled. 

“Come now. Let us cast aside our petty squabbling.” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “After all: does a smile not better suit a hero?”

She lunged at him, fingers hooked into claws. But he was quicker, stronger. Cool-headed. In control. He disarmed her, not by violence, but by simply catching her wrists, twisting and pinning them both at the small of her back. Imprisoned, straddling his lap, she lashed against his hold until she rendered herself tired and useless. 

“ _You dare_ ,” she hissed.

“Dare what? Remind you of your many failures? You have such a long list. One could say I am almost obligated to remind you of the myriad of ways in which you are utterly, horribly inadequate. Just as you are fit to remind me of mine.”

The smile on his face—thin and slight over his lips, but there besides. Cold, bemused. Almost something warmer. 

He released a hold on one of her wrists and caught a strand of pale hair—the precise moment she struck. Digging fingers into his throat. Squeezing.

Emet-Selch stared at her, handsome face suddenly blank. But the growing thickness between her thighs told her everything she needed to know. She smiled like she’d discovered a most treasured secret—and so did he.

“What a delightful little turn of events,” he oozed. “Whatever are you to do with me now?” 

The air had become heavier, hotter. Licorice, spice and darkness disarmed her of anger, and all at once, she was overwhelmed by everything him. His eyes had found her lips, and in those golden depths shined hunger. 

Here she was, faced with a truly despicable man, and all she wanted to do in that moment was fuck him. 

Verity flicked her eyes over his face, each impassable line—and tested him. Her fingers tightened. His spine arched a fraction. He wanted every onze of her violence, she knew. It was written clear as day in his eyes.

“What am I to do with you?” she echoed, leaning in to ghost her lips over the shell of his ear. “Strangle you. But you’ll have to beg for it first.”

He—laughed. “A king does not beg for scraps.”

The acid in his voice corroded her nerves. The Light within her clawed against her ribcage, demanding retribution.

She obeyed her desires—hands tightening, channeling every bit of untamed violence into that one act. It was enough to wipe that godsdamned smile off his face, to pull a pinched-off noise from his throat. The struggle was beautiful—until she realized it wasn’t discomfort at all.

It was absolute bliss.

Deep in his chest, otherworldly, it was his groan that was her complete undoing. And like a light, the need to kill him switched to something more carnal. He was hard between her thighs, and his wanton lust was evident in his eyes. Instead of calculating the kill, she contemplated the easiest, surest way to ensure her own demise—speared through with his cock. 

She eased her grip, but only just enough. His smile bled across his thin lips again, golden eyes wild. 

He leaned into her offending fingers. “Harder.”

It ignited her. Verity let go.

—to snake fingers into his hair. And _pull_.

He arched his back with the force of it, the tremble of a noise breaking past his mouth. She chased it with a harsh kiss, bruising his lips with hers, then biting his lower only to suckle at it. His arm jerked around her, crushing them together, and her hips willfully rolled against his, the friction exquisite. 

Everything about them was inelegant. Messy. Toxic. She hated him as much as she wanted him. He was her villain, her savior. Kill him or fuck him. He was her addiction, and she needed his relief, and only his. It made her sick. Excited. Starved.

Verity twisted her other wrist free, nimble fingers trying to navigate the maze of his fabrics. Impatient, she seized his hard length through clothing, simple and effective. He jolted as if he’d been bit and grabbed her. His frown was answer enough. 

“Has no one saw fit to teach you any manners? To wit, one might think you had learned a thing or two from your sordid past.”

With a growl, she tried to wrest herself free, but he held fast with strong yet gentle fingers. “The way you treat me like a piece of meat—it fair brings a tear to my eye. Do I not deserve to be wined and dined? Held dear and true? Or will you toss me aside again once I have satisfied you?” 

He jerked her into him, lips grazing the column of her throat. Her will to resist died, strangled in his warmth. He mouthed her skin, grazing teeth at the juncture ‘twixt her neck and shoulder. Setting every single nerve there on fire. She sighed and leaned into his bite, dizzy with it. Completely and utterly under his spell—and he under hers. Peppering kisses along her neck, up to the hollow spot behind her ear. 

“You are truly wretched,” Verity whispered.

“Wretched enough—“ he murmured into her hair, “—to still love you.”

A startled moment of regret. Stretching long. Longer. Questions filling the widening chasm between them. The breath stolen from her lungs. His body utterly unmoving.

Love? _Still_?

Desperate to ignore it, Verity grabbed his hand and put it between her thighs, then crushed another kiss against his mouth. Needing that and more to distract her from the shock of his quiet confession. Had she misheard him? Was it just another thing she had needed to hear? 

He thawed under her lips, his touch dancing inward toward her core, slow and maddening. She let loose a little whine, and he took it for what it was: _please_ and _more_. Deftly, and without hesitation, he moved aside her damp smallclothes, but he didn’t bless her with the contact she needed. As was his wont, he teased her, circling his fingers over her sex, letting out a little noise of his own when he felt how incredibly wet she was for him. 

Reflex and hot aching need had her rolling her hips along his touch. Seeking friction, groaning when his hand cupped her completely. His middle finger slipped between her folds, grazing the bud there just enough to make her shudder and whisper his name. The tip of that finger parted her, and she jerked her hips onto it, spearing herself through—rushing their joining with the desperation she felt quaking in her limbs, burning like melted steel through her veins. 

This time, thank the Mother, he didn’t tease her, sinking two long fingers inside with no resistance.

The breath she’d been holding punched out of her throat in pure relief. She broke their kiss, desperate to stay the inevitable, to draw out their joining. They hovered in each other’s orbit, silent and still, for what seemed like a millennia. Their foreheads touched. She closed her eyes and just listened to the sound of his breathing—a moment quiet and intimate.

Strangely familiar somehow…

"Shall I regale you of another one of your inadequacies?” His voice broke through her reverie, and it was hushed, bemused. A secret between them. “You are far too easy to please.”

Verity opened her eyes. His slight smile spoke of adoration, and his tenderness jump started her heart. Fireflies danced in her stomach. “Shh,” she whispered, laying a finger over his lips. “You talk too much.”

His eyes flared to life as if he’d scented blood. The look on his face—hungrier than she had ever seen him, wild like the starved dog he was. He nipped at her finger with teeth before plunging his mouth down around it, suckling in a way that was almost… fervent. He worshipped it, swirling his tongue along its length, tasting— _her_ , she realized. The sight of him feasting on her, what he could smell, taste, flushed her cheeks. A man so wondrous as he, brought down by something so simple yet so… erotic. 

Breath was harder to come by. She supplied him with another finger, ripe with her taste, and he fed on both of them, sucking and licking. The moment she tried to pull them away, he applied gentle teeth, fixing her with a sex-crazed glare that made her ache. 

Any urge to deaden her ascendency instantly disappeared. 

Verity hooked an arm around his neck and rocked her hips. His devilish fingers worked inside her, curling to tease the sweetest spot of her. Her whole body jolted with fire, a needlepoint of heat, brilliant and urgent. She cursed the Twelve under her breath, and he let out a broken noise from his throat. The sound alone, beautiful and deep, engorged on her blasphemy, thrust her to the precipice. She clenched around him while he suckled at her fingers.

The erratic rhythm of her body quickened. She pressed down hard, her breath caught in her throat as the heat—

Her orgasm destroyed her. Her body trembled as it tore through her, shortchanging her lungs of air, her mind of wits, her muscles of strength. Her heart blasted a symphony against her sternum, but so did something else—the Light. Scraping desperately against her bones, her very marrow. Begging for more. 

She couldn’t stop. Not even a moment to breathe.

The Light wouldn’t allow it.

Verity fucked herself senseless on his fingers, rubbing her tight bud on the dip between his index finger and thumb. Spreading her thighs farther so she could feel him deeper. She wanted to feel him in her throat, everywhere, all around her. In her soul, her mind. She wanted to drink him deep, eat him alive—be fucked by him and torn apart. Her self-preservation had left her, as had her mind. Everything she ever was chased her lust like a beast gone feral. 

His breath hitched as she rolled her hips hard and fast. The sound drew her closer to him, and her fingers found his hair again, pulling to the heavenly sound of his hushed groan. Harder, then, with all her might. He thrust his fingers inside her, hooked them, over and over again. Fucking her mercilessly. His mouth sought hers, but she turned her face away and bit his jawline instead, following it to his ear. She fanned a breath against his skin and tongued his earring, drawing it into her mouth. He jerked his supportive arm closer, crushing her against him—kissing her neck, sucking red blossoms into her skin. She let out a little huff of absolute bliss. Dragged teeth along his earlobe, up to the shell, before biting down. Hard.

He thrust his fingers so deep she came before she could think.

It blasted over her skin, her insides, obliterating her mind. She knew nothing but devastation, as blinding as the first and just as sweet. But again, it wasn’t enough. The Light said more. Harder. Now.

_Please_.

Not a moment of respite could she spare. She rolled her body over his fingers again, fucking them as hard and as fast as she could manage. He drew lazy circles over her bud with his thumb, over and over again. It left her raw, fevered, needing him so much she couldn’t think or breathe or feel anything but him. She whimpered. Her muscles cramped, desperate to satisfy the Light and her aching body, and to satiate her own depthless need for him.

Verity grabbed the back of his neck for support as his fingers hit that spot inside her. She panted against his jawline, fingers fumbling down the front of her to free a breast from her clothing. He nipped at her throat, her collarbone, and buried a kiss under her skin. Gentle, he passed a thumb over the nipple before cupping her breast, fingers fluttering over her skin, once, twice, like he was marveling at her beauty before daring to partake. His breath teased her naked flesh. 

She groaned, and it sounded like begging. He gave in, kissing her breast, mouthing it, worshipping it—

“ _Gods_.”

Harder, faster. 

She fucked him, and his fingers moved in tandem with her undulating body. That heat again, within her, mounting, threatening to rip her to pieces. She ushered another groan into being. Somewhere beyond her frazzled mind, she felt him descend on her, his touch over her opposite breast. Gentle and delicate, before he pinched her skin between his teeth right below her collarbone, pulling down the neckline of her negligee. 

Verity bared everything to him, arching her back while holding onto his neck—giving him raw and utter reign over her body. He licked at her nipple, sucked it, mouthed kisses over her, before lavishing the other with the same adoration. He touched her all over, dull fingernails drawing lines in her skin. She bore down on his fingers until she hurt, fanning the flames inside her. Igniting them, suffering through another blaze of an orgasm that left her weak, exhausted.

No matter how much her entire body screamed to stop, the Light needed more. 

“Take me to bed,” she whispered against his mouth. Kissing him. Nipping at his jawline. His earlobe. Anything to get him to fuck her yet again.

Her whole world shifted upward, moved—to the bed and on it. Her heart threatened to burst through the confines of her flesh. It was elation and dread, exhaustion and pain. She wanted him, but the Light was starved of him. To entice him anew, she spread herself out, writhing on the mattress like a wanton thing. But he didn’t move to take her or fuck her with the weight of millennia behind him. He stood there, looking down on her, studying her face. Searching her for what only the gods knew. 

She couldn’t wait and grasped at anything she could reach. Her fingertips caught his sleeve, and she pulled in a desperate attempt to lure him down to her. “Please…”

“I think you have had your fill for one evening. And even if you haven’t, _I am exhausted_.”

His declaration had no bite to it, nor his usual flair for drama—and he touched her with that selfsame gentleness, sweeping a thumb over her cheekbone. A balm to her aching soul, and with it, the Light… quieted. No longer screaming its demand, driving her mad. But shut away, in a dark room. Subdued.

A wave of exhaustion hit her. She blinked up at him, drowsy, angling her chin into his hand to kiss the meat of his palm. He pulled away, but she wouldn’t let him. Not entirely. Her fingers struggled to let go of him, dragging down until they settled into his hand. Their fingers entwined. Lingered. Index fingers the last to unhook from one another. A moment of treasured intimacy between them. Of understanding. Of something more.

Verity Iverness didn’t give it voice and fell away into her world of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I have lots of thoughts about continuing this series. It's probably going to take a while for me, so I can't promise when I can post. But I hope you can forgive my slowness and come with me on this journey. I'm not sure where and how it will end, but I will absolutely finish it! Thank you for giving these two wrecks a chance!  
> 2) Did I miss any tags? Please let me know! I'm horrible when it comes to tagging. ;(


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the glorious frostmantle for the beta! My sister also took a pass at it and found most of my horrifying typos! ♥

_Crack._

_Split._

An ice pick of pain punctured her brain. Her world pitched. Rolled. Shattered. Colors, sounds—the images around her disembodied. Fractured like a broken mirror.

She gasped for breath.

A sound… .. no, _a voice_.

But whose?

“What's the matter? Are you all right?”

_Ardbert._

Her voice broke under the strain. From screaming.

_The Light—it… ._

Something delicate and reverent touched her temple. Miraculously, the blinding pain dissipated, leaving her unsteady but none the worse for wear. A slight throbbing, dizziness that forced her lungs to gulp in air. Where the Light had raged against its prison of flesh, bursting its way through her ribs, a part of it had been cut out. Amputated. All because Ardbert had touched her.

What did it mean?

“What... what just happened?” Ardbert demanded.

Verity took in a chilling breath and looked at him. Her ghostly companion hovered over her, a worried mother hen. Her eyes struggled to focus, limbs still quaking—aftershocks of the Light’s rage. She licked her lips. Cracked and dry. Bloody. Her fingernails… broken and bruised where she had clawed desperately at the stone floor.

Nothing the Warrior of Darkness shouldn’t be able to simply shrug off. But the damage to her confidence, her psyche...

She swallowed hard and wiped a hand down her face. “I—I don’t know. The Light. It’s… tearing me apart. I—I don’t know how long—”

“Minfilia said my time had not yet come. That I still had a role to play,” Ardbert whispered, “ _Not even the most valiant heroes can stand alone..._ ”

Verity frowned through a fissure of pain. “I— what—“

“No─ No, it couldn't be. There's only one hero in this room, and it is not me. I'm just a shadow, cursed to wander.”

The shattered mirror of her reality began to slowly fuse itself together. The grays of her vision blossomed with color. Her bed. The open window. Cool breeze against her sweat-slick skin. The impenetrable loneliness of her empty room. Her arms, the back of her neck—her entire being seized up in a sudden hyperawareness of vulnerability. Shielding herself against another fading tremor of the Light’s wrath. Nausea rose up to greet her, her teeth chattering in the absence of warmth and encroaching darkness. 

A knock at the door.

Her heart jolted. Thundered against her neck.

She swallowed.

“Verity?”

The soft voice through the door—it sapped her body of its tension, and with her renewed vigor, Verity willed herself to her feet, stumbling to whip open the door. In it stood the Crystal Exarch, the sight of him a relief. Yet something was off. It was in the curve of his spine, the way he fidgeted from one foot to the other. His hood shadowed his face yet she could read his apprehension in the dulcet tenor of his voice.

“Ahem. Forgive the intrusion, but Minfilia—that is, Ryne and the others were asking after you. Is everything all right?”

She focused on his lips. The subtle curves, the flush of them—the golden inlays of his hood, the crystal creeping across his pale skin. Anything to preoccupy her mind, to prevent herself from admitting to weakness. Beyond that, did she truly need to worry them? Did they truly need to know that their only hope was dying?

“I—“

Didn’t they have a right to know?

“The Light. It—I had another attack.”

“That pain again? And did it pass?”

Verity nodded.

“Thank goodness for that. I would not wish to see you suffer. Though I know only too well how much you have suffered on our behalf in recent days. Indeed, I have no right to impose upon you further. Nevertheless, I must ask one thing of you.” The Exarch took a breath. “That you survive this, no matter what. When the dust settles, you must return to your world. For the battles to come and the wars yet unwon.”

A moment of hesitation—that was all it took. The sudden intrusion of intense heat seeped into the void. A ribbon of decadence. Dark chocolate, sandalwood.

_Licorice._

“How unbearably sentimental. Armed with your false platitudes, the Warrior of Light can truly face anything—why, perhaps even come back from the very brink of death itself.”

Verity cast a chilling glare over her shoulder. Emet-Selch filled the doorway, his golden eyes a weapon and boring into the Exarch’s bone matter. His imposing stature, the way his spine was almost straight and rigid—was he protecting her? Or rather—territorial? The Exarch showed none of her uneasiness, instead squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin upward a degree. Defiant.

“I see you have company—the quality of it questionable at best. Should I be worried, Verity? Is he bothering you?”

"Oh, wouldn't you be delighted to know how much I bother her, Exarch. The tales I could tell you. Extraordinary, I assure you. Stories of how she sounds when she comes. I have seen the world's many wonders, but fucking the Warrior of Light senseless is absol—argh!"

Violent, fueled by the lingering hunger of the Light, her elbow struck him square in the ribs. The satisfying expulsion of air, the grimace on his face—Emet-Selch curled in on himself and sucked in a breath.

“I apologize. I didn’t know,” the Exarch whispered, bemused, “—how much you have truly suffered until now, Verity. To be assailed by someone so distasteful and quite plainly _inadequate_ —”

“Pray that I am as _inadequate_ as you assume,” Emet-Selch cut in, “Only then would she favor you with the slightest of glances. And even then, _your gods help you_ …”

“And by those very gods and the heavens above, how I would treat her with the utmost delicacy and grace.”

“Delicacy and grace? One can attest you are incapable of both. Truth be told, the delicacy with which you ripped her and her companions from the Source—by Zodiark, I am truly awestruck. And grace? Surely I have seen no one more graceful with secrecy and lies than you, my dear Exarch.”

“Because you, an Ascian, bent on destruction, are the epitome of truth,“ the Exarch growled.

“Enough! Both of you,” she hissed, “I am not a prize nor a brood mare to be fought over.”

The Exarch startled. “Of—of course. If I suggested aught otherwise, I—”

Verity touched his arm. “It’s fine. It’s—it’s been a long day, and I’m painfully tired. Please. Let’s speak tomorrow. Tell the others I’m all right. I just need a bit of time. That’s all.”

“Of course. I'll not keep you from your rest any longer. Take as much time as you like.”

“Thank you. I wish you a good night, Exarch.”

She closed the door, then turned sharply on her heel. The full heat of her glare blistered him. Emet-Selch stood a few feet away, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Frowning. Waiting to be burned alive.

“You look rather displeased. Disappointed in me, are you?” Emet-Selch sighed harshly. “Tear me apart, if you must, but let it be quick.”

_Displeased._

Verity scoffed and gathered a decorative pillow in her trembling hands. Turning it in various angles under heated inspection. Delicate hand-stitched lace, as bright as snow. Her fingernails ate at the edges, fraying it apart in quick, devastating picks and plucks. _Displeased._

The Light feasted on her marrow, and with all her strength, she hurled the tattered thing at his face.

“Must you be so hell-bent on driving me away with your wickedness?” she shouted, startled by the fury in her voice. “There was no excuse for what you said back there, truly. And I’m a hair’s breadth away from assuming you don’t have one decent bone in your body.”

There was an unexpected stillness, a quiet suspension of time and place. Emet-Selch took a smooth yet calculated breath and ran soft fingertips over the lace she’d ruined. A moment in mourning, perhaps, of something once beautiful now rendered frail and shattered. Better still, a second or more to compose himself. Violence fluttered just beneath his skin. She could _feel_ it.

“Decency is relative, isn’t it? But inadequacy—that can be measured and cut.” He tucked the pillow in the seat of a chair. Almost reverently. “Tell me I am not inadequate.”

The way he said it—its faded whisper belied an undercurrent of vulnerability. But there was undeniable strength in it too, tempered under a millennia of loss and regret. Sharp as steel, cutting like a knife. It bled her of any ease she’d found in that hushed moment. Her muscles tensed anew. Was she being threatened? Or, did he truly think himself inadequate? The uncertainty was vicious—and so, too, was the singular step he seized toward her. The second just as dangerous. The look he fixed on her—lethal. Breathtaking.

The Light quaked with the promise of retribution.

Verity tilted her chin up, saying nothing.

“So, it is now you decide to be glib. You certainly are treading a dangerous path. Perhaps you need reminding how truly adequate I am.”

“That would necessitate being adequate in the first place. The Exarch wasn’t so wrong in his assessment.”

It was as if she’d powered off one of Nero’s little toys. Emet-Selch just… stopped. Didn’t breathe or blink. The only indication he was there, mind-present or alive at all—was the impossibly slow clench of his fists.

“Is that so?”

Verity backed into the door as his advancement resumed. That rage inside her—it coiled beneath her ribs, tight around her lungs. A labored breath traversed the shallow space between them. His heat boiled her skin. The sweet rot of licorice, of aged bitter wine and wet earth nearly made her gag. He was too close—and she… She couldn’t breathe. And the Light—it _seethed_.

Every onze of strength. Every fiber of defiance. Of suffering, of loss—anger, sacrifice. Sadness, hatred. The entity inside her bones engorged itself on that energy, intensified—and _unleashed_.

The impact should’ve forced him back and away. Should’ve freed her, allowed her to breathe. But he was a stone wall, infuriating in his closeness, impossible in his touch. Strong hands captured her shoulders, and the Light screamed inside her head. Whipped and thrashed under her sternum. Her breathing—was she suffocating?

Quick and devastating, Verity jerked her entire body. Threw her fists at him, connecting soundly once or twice. Emet-Selch jostled her hard against the door, and pain blossomed across her back. His hand tight and secure over her mouth. This, then, was how she’d die. Strangled in her own room. A victim again. Powerless.

Verity screamed under his fingers. A tear tracked hot down her cheek. Closer now, his lips brushing against her ear.

She was— _going to die_.

“Shh.”

The Light clawed at her insides, rending her organs. The pain—too much. Then—

Nothing.

A screaming child locked in a dark room. Still there, but muffled. The Light screeched in its blackened confines, but it was no more than a frightened whisper in her mind. Her bones ached surely as they did after any battle—her brain a little scattered. Naught compared to her body breaking under the sheer pressure of air like it had before.

Muted in a way, then. Different than when Ardbert had touched her.

Suddenly, out of her own dark mind, she was there in her own room again. His body pressed up against hers, the heat of him grounding her in a way that let her breathe again. She took in a lungful of air—of pine and ruby-red cherries, of ancient secrets tucked beneath the softness of his skin. And that was where she buried herself, against the quick of his throat, nuzzling her lips along his jugular. To the underside of his chin, sweet little inline kisses toward his mouth. All of it in appreciation, gratitude.

He was her savior draped in sin.

Their lips crashed together, and their kiss was a messy thing. Her fingertips bit into his arms, the need to cling to him so real, so all-encompassing that her heart skipped a fractured beat. Reluctantly, she let go when his hands cupped her face, when his thumbs swept over her cheekbones. The touch loving, reverent—gentle enough she let out a quiet noise of surrender. In that moment, he took everything from her—her breath, her will to fight and resist him. His kiss tamed her with its passion, left her stunned against the doorway. Even when he broke it, backed away a single ilm, she could still feel him against her mouth.

“Adequate?”

“Does he honestly threaten you so much?” Verity whispered brokenly. She shuddered under his renewed onslaught at her neck, kissing ‘twixt her neck and shoulder. Then, a nip with teeth.

The Light, defanged, let out a subdued hiss.

”I wonder if he watches us while we’re fucking...” The nastiness—it wasn’t _hers_. A whisper of the Light, then? “If he does—perhaps he knows ‘inadequate’ isn’t so far off the mark…”

—but she thrilled at the danger all the same.

Emet-Selch leveled her with a look. Sharp and narrowed, long lashes turning bright gold into a burnished orange. Unimpressed and thoroughly unamused. She wondered if he’d kiss her again—or break her neck.

Neither. Instead, he brushed the backs of his fingers across her lips, down her chin. She chased their movement, nipped at one of the tips and drew it in her mouth. Suckled a little. Daring him to take all of her with her silver eyes.

“If I am inadequate as you say, you would not hunger for my touch so.”

“I’m just desperate. Lonely. I’d fuck anyone. Even the Exarch.”

—daring him, too, to simply _punish her_.

He smoothed a gloved hand down the column of her throat. Thumb dancing along her pulse point. Hunger flashed in his eyes. A need for violence, she prayed.

“Would you?” A question, both electric and infuriating. “Indulge me. What exactly would you do to him?”

_Hurt me._

“Suck his cock so hard he’d die and meet his precious gods in the heavens he so adores.” Verity arched her back and let the movement ripple through her body. Her hips brushing square against his—just enough to tease. To drive herself crazy. “Certainly nothing compared to what I’d let him do to me.”

The tip of his thumb needled the point of her chin. The demand to expose her throat to him—unsaid. “The anticipation is leaving me harder than you realize. Never have you been short on imagination. You must have a particular scenario in mind. Do tell.”

Verity tilted her head back obediently. “For my benefit or yours? Perhaps it’s the Exarch you truly desire.”

“And mayhap I have already had my fill of him. Wouldn’t you be delighted to know where he has sucked bruises into my skin? You _will never guess_.”

Her mouth dropped open, a quiet noise of surprise freed. The rush of adrenaline in her veins, the thunder of her heart—disorientation left her weak and oblivious.

He squeezed lightly. “Tell me.”

“... I want to be on display. A pretty thing for all to see. Bent over and bare to the world. The Exarch—gods… with his hard cock deep inside. Holding me down, fingers in my hair. I can practically feel every thrust in my throat. The best thing? Better than the rest? Is that all of it is projected from the Crystal Tower, onto every surface. I want to wear my shame like a badge of honor. Finally, I am without my defenses, and no one can judge me.”

Her confession stretched long between them, ripe with sin and growing stale by the second. The cautious search of his eyes—they flayed her alive, stripping her bare. So deep did they burrow, she wondered if he could truly see how shattered—how lost, and how immeasurably beyond repair she truly was. How better it would be to toss her aside. Forget her. Just like all the others.

He kept her close instead, thumbing soft circles along her neck. His tender gesture gravitated her back to this star, all of her senses tuned in to him. The ease of his breath over her face, the way the little hairs on the back of her nape rose up to greet him. He touched his lips to her forehead, and she held her breath.

“Is it the freedom to be vulnerable you seek?” Emet-Selch whispered. Gooseflesh pebbled her skin. “If so, I will leave you so exposed and vulnerable that you shall then _beg me_ —“ He breathed, “—to treat you with the delicacy and grace you so undeniably deserve.”

The point-pressure at the tip of her chin—nothing could save her from tilting her head up into his awaiting grace. His lips captured hers gently, chaste as if the all previous had never existed. Their first under this new understanding of vulnerability and safety—and she melted into it, giving all of herself. Heat bloomed in her chest as his tongue licked at the seam of her mouth, seeking permission. Hastily, she slackened her jaw—and devoured him. Her body wanted to skip past the tenderness, the hesitant exploration of new lovers—because hard fucking, ravenous and raw, was all she’d ever known. From the near-violent mishandle of sex-starved men twice her young womanhood—to the lust-drenched fuck of her life with Nero many years later.

Rush, rush, rush—violence, pain. Empty satiation.

Nothing had ever been sweet, tender. Loving.

—and every ilm of her being fought against it.

She bit his bottom lip because she needed retaliation. Wasn’t that the flow of things?

What was sex without violence?

He pulsed his grip at her throat, and she thrilled at it. Wanted more pressure, more hurt. She whined against his pliant lips, but he didn’t indulge. He returned her need for roughness and mistreatment with gentleness and dignity. While she surged up into his mouth, fighting his tongue, he languished his along hers, so slow, so caring that her insides screamed. Her heart fluttered then pounded furiously in its bone-wrought cage. Her breath quickened. Her greedy hands grabbed and pinched at him. Fought to draw out the reaction she needed. Another bite at his lips, nails at his back, had him blasting out a curt sigh. Frustration drew his lips tight and unresponsive.

He would hit her. She was sure of it.

Her mind begged for the distraction of pain.

But he was gentle with the quick snatch of her wrists, pinning them just above her head.

And like a tsunami, her anger destroyed.

With a flash of body movement, she jerked her upper body forward, to the side—anything to escape from this. The assault of tender and dignity, of his grace and affection. It frightened her, and like a caged animal, starved and abused, she fought. And fought, thrashed and cried out in utter frustration. All the while, his fingers soft and unrestraining—could she break free?

Did she really want to?

The will to fight bled out of her. Left exhausted, both physically and emotionally, she floated from one isle of mental trauma to the next, listless, aimless. The loneliness of her childhood, the abandonment of everyone who should have taken care of her but didn’t. The deaths of Haurchefant and Ysayle. Everyone she had ever failed.

Soft skin against hers. A sweet kiss at her temple. A voice.

“Come back to me.”

She was back at her room in the Pendants. Against the door. Her enemy—no, had he ever been an enemy?—close and unbelievably warm. Still soft, ever patient. Always and undeniably hers.

With a soft exhale, she looked up. Her world was his eyes, precious gold and concerned. He pursed his lips and whispered, “Tell me to let go,” his thumbs drawing soft patterns on the underside of her wrists.

“ _Never_ ,” a broken word, “let me go.”

This time, her lips brushed his. Soft and exploratory. He tasted like confectionery and brine. She parted her mouth gently and partook of him, their deepened kiss sweetened with a note of lust and need. The growing heat in her belly—unbearable. It was as if he knew, too, sliding a knee between her open thighs.

Starved, needy, she succumbed.

Verity gripped him between her legs and rolled her hips once. The friction sent a jolt up her spine, into her brain—and she dropped her head back and groaned. The rejuvenated force of his kiss thumped her head against the door—no longer delicate and chaste, but hungry and infused with impatience. She supped at his lower lip, nipped with teeth and his fingers dug into her wrists. Her intake of air—of licorice and sweat—clung to her throat. She established a steady rhythm, grinding against his thigh, using the length of it to fan her flames. Applying hard pressure and long yet fervent strokes. Another little noise from her lips. He broke their kiss to give it the light of day, to let it thrive in the heated space between them. It sounded of surrender, of want.

Of sin whispered in the holy halls of Saint Reymanaud Cathedral.

His lips hovered just above hers, like a forbidden treat. She lurched up to capture their sweetness, but he backed away an ilm, just out of her reach. She whined, but he ignored her, his golden eyes puncturing holes into her flesh. Her cheeked flushed, with the physical exertion of their sex or his stare, she didn’t know.

_I want to be on display. A pretty thing for all to see._

The reality of it—of being watched, of being seen—was an iron vice around her lungs. Adrenaline shot through her veins. She quickened her fucking, rubbing herself harder against him. His thigh touched all of her, and the sweet promise of pressure at her rear drove her to heights she hadn’t known. The brush of his rigid cock against her hip—she ground against it, simply overwhelmed by the coiling heat between her legs, his hardness, sensations in places she dared to have him run her through. She sucked in her bottom lip, whimpered, and met his gaze.

How absolutely _hungry he looked_ … 

Her orgasm crushed her bones, and she called out for him. He was there with a fervent kiss, swallowing down her groan. It echoed in his chest—or had he admitted one of his own? The thought of him making a noise, however slight, had her leaning into him, kissing him harder. Dizzy, but needing more.

“Take me to bed.”

Almost instantly, her world changed. From the door of her room, to the bed and in his arms. A snap rang out, and they were naked, skin-to-skin. His hand traced the long line of her side, the backs of his fingers a whisper against her thigh, up again to the outside of her breast, to her face where he cupped her. Another delicate kiss, this one spiked with urgency. But she was hesitant. Her body was raw from her first release. Too much all at once. Too tender and gentle, and her mind fought against it. She needed something other than this, other than sweet dignity.

Forcefully, she shoved him off her and onto his back. Straddled his hips before he could say or do otherwise. He cut a handsome figure beneath her, the taut muscle of his stomach flinching beneath her touch. The devastating chisel of his collarbones, his cock hard and flush. She wanted to choke on it.

She wanted to choke him.

Verity ran her fingers through his damp hair, gripped it and pulled back. He arched his back under the pain, and the undulation of his body put pressure exactly where she wanted it. It took everything in her not to plunge down on his cock. And what was a Warrior of Light without restraint? 

A monster.

And like a monster, she took what was hers. With a lethality not all her own, she held his head steadfast and pressed her wetness against his mouth. There was no hesitation. He took to it like he was meant for it, like he’d been waiting for centuries—cleaving her in two with his devious tongue. He supped on her tight bud and it sent shivers rippling up her spine. Her breath caught in her throat. Soon, she was lost in his drink of her, her tight hold on his hair softening. It was balance she sought then, relieving him of her touch altogether and fanning her hands outward across the headboard. Renewed, she rolled her hips evenly against his face, every shallow thrust inspiring a new noise. A subdued groan, a strangled sound—his name whispered to the heavens.

She was caught up in his ministrations, enough to miss his subtle hands. They snaked under her thighs, and his fingertips spread across her backside. He urged her faster, harder. She didn’t refuse, taking everything she needed from him. Shielding her delicate psyche with this desperate fucking. Riding his face, she’d found control. Immersed herself in all of it—the bead of sweat winding its way down her back. The way his mouth devoured her, the tip of his tongue spearing her. Her thighs trembled, her crest so near. Like a crystalline wave pulling back, back—

… the sweep of his thumb—where no man had ever penetrated her…

Her orgasm crashed into her, threatening to suck her under… drown her.

She was free-falling in dark waters. Spinning. Disorientated.

Seeking the surface. To breathe. To live.

—to find his arms wrapped around her, as they lay side-by-side. She breathed deeply, of sweat and sex, of her own chamomile and lilies—warped by licorice and sweetened by sandalwood.

His lips found her again, and it gave her purpose. Oh, how he kissed her. Softer and sweeter than Ser Aymeric, reminiscent of Nero's _take, take, take_. Emet-Selch didn’t need Estinien's forcefulness—she was already his and his alone. Like fulfilling a legacy that was always known.

Under his touch, she was meant to be claimed.

His hungry kiss followed her as he shifted her again, onto her back. Her skin shuddered under the weight of his soft fingertips, fluttering over her breast to tease at the nipple. He replaced them with his lips, suckling, curling his tongue around it—before he abandoned it altogether.

A line of kisses, then, down to her belly, further still. Reflexively, she tightened her thighs around him, to stop him perhaps, so that she might take a cleansing breath. With him like this, between her thighs, ready to service her again—it made her what she truly wanted to be. Exposed. Vulnerable. An all-too-raw feeling that had her teeth chattering lightly. A voice inside her head begged him to stop. Her fight or flight kicked in, but instead of fighting him, instead of fleeing, she filled her lungs with air. Exhaled. Once, twice, thrice more all the same.

While she breathed, steadied her mind to receive, he used her skin as a canvas. Bridging each mole, scar, and imperfection with a soft fingertip. Drawing ancient Allagan schematics over her belly. He kissed her inner thigh once before tracing her collarbones. Soft, sweet. Almost innocent in his curiosity.

She dared a look. His golden eyes didn’t meet her right away, too caught up in one of her many scars. But when they did, he smiled so slight, yet so genuine, it may as well have been the entire strength of the sun staring back at her. The sight of him was beyond compare. The moment between them quiet.

He leaned his head against her thigh and waited. And it was an act of such giving that made her chest seize with—a feeling she couldn’t name. Did she dare?

What if he, too, lov—

His touch found her again, and the reverence in each stroke made her pause. His softness, how truly oblivious he seemed to be in mapping out—the stars? How did he know how much she loved them? How many nights had she spent staring at them when she felt lost and alone? The gentle coming together of these specific shapes—

“Is that... the sun? And—another constellation? I don't recognize it,” she whispered. “Why those in particular?”

He almost startled, like he’d been caught divulging a well-guarded secret. Her realization—simply too bright for his darkness. Their shared moment of vulnerability threatened to curdle, to burn out like a dying star. She couldn't risk it.

_Let him have his secrets._

“So quiet and unlike you. I believe we have finally found a proper use for your mouth, haven’t we?”

Her quip broke the fragility between them. Emet-Selch rolled his eyes, bemused, and nipped just below her knee. She flinched but let out a little laugh.

“Typical that the vaunted Warrior of Light has me do all the work,” Emet-Selch huffed. “If this is the only _proper_ use, then I had better _get to it_. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Permission.

_Please._

“Yes.”

He kissed where he’d bitten, soothing it with the softness of his lips. Then, he kissed lower, between her knee and his ultimate destination. All the while, watching her, his eyes like flashing embers in the dark. Another kiss just below that one. He lingered there for a moment or two, tracing a scar there with his tongue, giving it a kiss as if he could mend it right then and there. She feathered his hair with her fingers, let her hand rest at his nape as he—finally—brought flush his mouth against her. A noise of surprise stole out of her throat. But his affections lasted all-too-briefly. He pulled away, fiddled with a pillow, jostled her and fitted it under her hips. His eyebrows raised once.

“Wouldn’t want our hero to be uncomfortable, now would we?”

Back to epithets and choice-names for each other. Hero. Villain. Ascian. Warrior of Light. To round off the edges of their paired vulnerability, so their moment of truth wouldn’t cut as deep. Wouldn’t tear all the way down as they, gluttonously, feasted and swallowed.

She twisted her free hand in the sheets. The fluid motion of his tongue bent her spine and she arched, liquid and feline under his spell. His tongue dove deep inside, mouth all around her. She was his divine peach, and he sucked at her core, letting none of her go to waste. She couldn’t help but roll her hips, up into his awaiting face, taking, taking, taking. These days, as the First’s Hero, she didn’t dare be selfish—but now. Gods… _now_.

She would embody it.

Verity hooked her ankles together, using the heel of her foot to pull him in more—harder, faster. His nose grazed her tight bud, and she chased that feeling like a starved beast. Somehow, him being this close— _wasn’t close enough_. She pulled at his neck more roughly than she should have—apologized with the graze of her thumb along his shorn hair. Kept rubbing as he strummed that sweltering heat with his mouth. There was a fight between angling her thighs open for him, and keeping him caged with her legs and heels. Her muscles revolted under the strain of her rolling hips. As she thrust upward, he met her with a driving force, pressing his face closer, driving his tongue deeper. So close… Mounting…

One, then two—his fingers met no resistance as they slipped inside. Verity let out a surprised huff and whipped both hands to the headboard. The feel of him inside her… curling, sucking—a steady rhythm of fucking.

Her choked-off groan… a gulp of air.

_There._

_Now._

“Delicacy— _grace_.”

The sound she made—not a groan, a whine. Not his name.

But a scream.

The pitch and roll of trauma released. An endless sea of despair. The jagged wound anger and hurt had left behind. Of everything and everyone who had scarred her. The inability to be selfish. The ultimate burden of being a savior.

She let it all go.

—and she broke.

Verity didn’t catch the transition. From stark nakedness to a blanket covering her; from the hot stifling air to being pressed to his clothed body. Dry eyes to tears streaking down her face. And in his arms, she was vulnerable. A shattered, seen thing. No defenses. Just her. Raw and true.

Would he judge her?

“Against all your instincts and everything you believe to be true,” he whispered gently, “… you are still beautiful.”

Her body fought with tremors. Her chest seized up, and a hole—so… dark and devouring—threatened to consume her whole. It was of vast emptiness and stinging regret. She surged with wanting to hide, to never see him again. And as she suffocated with it, Emet-Selch held her close and gentle—until she fell asleep onto a waking world of fretful images and nightmare fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) wow, I'm so sorry it took five (!) months to update this. that's really inexcusable. with the times, I couldn't concentrate on writing at all. I'm trying to be better. does that mean a timely update? probably not. please stay with me. I love you. ;;;;  
> 2) still no plot in sight. all right then.  
> 3) did I miss a tag? please let me know. ;(

**Author's Note:**

> Do you want a place where you can scream about Emet-Selch* and be totally, completely accepted and loved? Come over to [Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched and Enabling Book Club](https://discord.gg/ctR3S9H). We'd love you have you! ♥
> 
> * ~~or any other character in FFXIV~~


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